


Red Petals

by syrupwit



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Hanahaki Disease, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22990315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syrupwit/pseuds/syrupwit
Summary: After the teacher turns away, Dib scoots his rickety desk forward and hisses, “I know.”
Relationships: Dib/Zim (Invader Zim)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 177
Collections: Writing Rainbow Red





	Red Petals

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alana/gifts).



After the teacher turns away, Dib scoots his rickety desk forward and hisses, “I know.”

“What?” Zim counters, pretending to be absorbed in watching the “Rules of Detention” appear on the whiteboard. Mr. Elliott sprinkles his words with hearts and emojis. _Rule #14: Students caught using phones will be made to eat them. ;-)  
_

“I know what you were doing, Zim.” Dib lowers his voice further, so Zim has to lean his own desk back to hear. “In the bathroom.” 

Zim freezes, but quickly recovers. “You followed me into the bathroom? You’re sick.”

“Shut up! We made brownies in chemistry and Chunk dumped batter down my shirt. You were already there when I came in to wash off.”

“So that’s why you smell chocolatey and delicious,” Zim muses. “Wait! I mean… that’s why you stink even worse than usual. Stinky.”

“Whatever, Zim. I heard you coughing.” Dib’s voice turns dark and threatening. “I didn’t know _aliens_ could get hanahaki.” 

“Zim has no idea what you—”

“Don’t deny it! You left this in the sink.” Dib uncurls his closed fist to reveal a single petal, coin-sized and nosebleed-red. “I wonder what kind of weird alien stuff I’ll find when I test it in my lab?”

“That is UNSANITARY, and RIDICULOUS, and I’ve never seen that thing before in my life—”

A bright clearing of the throat interrupts them before things can escalate further. Mr. Elliott, smiling and paternal as always, has contrived to place a hand on each of their shoulders. Dib recoils; Zim recoils harder. 

Over Zim’s exaggerated cries of disgust, Mr. Elliott asserts, “No talking in detention, boys. Rule #1.”

“You can continue your chat later,” he adds, as a still-screeching Zim slathers his shoulder with hand sanitizer and starts to scrub. Dib tucks the petal in his inside coat pocket—a special pocket, for securing samples from Zim—and puts his head on his desk. 

About an hour later, Dib stirs to whisper, “You know I’m going to find out who it is.”

“Your ugly mouth has chocolate on it,” Zim whispers back, snickering when Dib swipes at it. He swallows down the petals in his throat. The horrible flowers poke at his insides, evidence of the defective feelings he hasn't yet managed to eradicate.

Normally, Zim would be happy to lay the blame where it belongs, but he’d rather die than let Dib know this is his fault.


End file.
